You'll think of me
by Stranded With Plums
Summary: Hermione remembers Minerva's cold words, but revenge is sweet. MM/HG


I do not own Harry Potter.

I got the inspiration from listening to Keith Urban's "You'll think of me".

You'll think of me

She found it hard to move on. She found herself pooled around the picture in her hand night after night, day after day with no reprieve. A time in her life was captured before her eyes and it stared back angrily, whispering the "what if's" straight into her ears. Her mind was full of imaginary future scenes with both parties' playing their roles perfectly. She could smell her, but worse, she could envision her small frame and deep penetrating eyes-she was truly lost within the hope of someday finally coming into contact again with that lovely smile. The truth never let that thought rest for too long on her mind, for as soon as it landed softly into the ground, it would tragically fly away never to return until the next weak moment she found herself having. Her heart told her that seeing her again would prove both futile and painful, but this mattered very little to her.

She unfolded the grade sheet that she had received from her presentation regarding the final transfiguration speech that she had given. Scanning downward, the words scribbled below in black ink jumped from the page to become spoken words for only her to hear.

_Very nice and informative. You've done a wonderful job of both researching and presenting your subject to the class. Simply wonderful. Well done Hermione! _

She imagined a smiley face grinning from ear to ear instead of an exclamation point, but regardless, the meaning remained the same. She shivered slightly at the past thoughts associated with these simple words-it seemed that not even the blazing crackles of the fire could warm her tonight, only the touch from a certain someone.

_Professor McGonagall..._

The tears filled themselves with unshed angst and past memories. Love was not an option now since the subject of all her longing desires had decided to make herself unavailable. Oh yes, she was there when this beautiful woman smacked Hermione's heart flat into the ground. Somehow, she still tried to dampen the fire of betrayal with affirmations consulting the rare idea that her love had realized what was happening between the two and put a stop to it by falling away-cold and silent. There were no second chances, no questions, no answers, no more words to be exchanged between the two, just the clinking sounds of her heart unraveling link by link from its chain in the tallest tower followed by the resulting crash upon the pavement below.

_Hi Hermione, I am so glad to see you! How have you been?_

She had to move on. It was a crucial piece that needed to be joined quickly with another in the ever-growing puzzle of her life. Accepting defeat for now, she threw both the picture and note straight into the carnivorous flames and watched with much regret as her past was set ablaze, then blackened beyond recognition.

_If only memories were that easy to erase_, she though bitterly as she lifted herself lightly from the floor. _Time for sleep now_...

It was around noon when Hermione opened her hazel eyes and found nothing, but gleaming sunlight filtering in through the sheer window curtains.

_I've got to get some heavier fabric for those windows. Can't stand the sunlight this early in the day, _she thought lazily. Her hazy mind crept slowly about its inner walls and showed no signs of speeding up any time soon, so she jerked the covers up around her face again and drifted back off to sleep.

Two hours later, saw her awake and alert, though not as happy as she should be considering it was her birthday. Despite the temptation to sleep the day away, she crawled out from beneath the covers and made her way over to the bathroom. The doorway became her resting place as she stood motionless, unaware of the ticking clock for time was the enemy. Her very own party was to be held at the exclusive Shadow Inn, more of a dating scene for singles, but still by invitation only. Hermione had more of a comfy evening planned, but Ginny refused to let her celebrate her 28th birthday as the depressed, young, and single female that she was.

_Damn it all_, she snarled and into the shower she went.

Her hair was pinned up in a curl-filled bun, the make-up was applied, and the pink, knee-length dress flowed quite nicely. The total package was a hit and she knew it-so then why the glum look? Her own reflection stared back at her with an emotionless expression. No joy, no pain, no happiness, no disgust...not even a flicker of bitterness passed behind her eyes. Was she over her finally?

_No. She is and always will be your comparison. Others will never stand a chance at capturing your heart, while she still lives within your memories. She is a ghost, a trapped spirit, a living testament of your heart's sorrow._

Her hand came down swiftly, deliberately sending out shock waves of self-hatred throughout the table.

"I can't let her go," Hermione whispered into the palm of her hand.

Three glasses of cheap wine later and Hermione was on the floor of her London flat, singing unknown verses to hit songs that she had heard earlier on the radio. She was never one to hold her alcohol and this alone was what had gotten her into such a state in the first place. She no longer cared about celebration, party favors, glam and glitz, or even her friends at the moment-her only motivation was to become a permanent resident of the city of Drunk and start life over from there.

The last moment of wine-enhanced clarity gave her these words to ponder in a dream, whose meaning no doubt, would prove even more incomprehensible than life itself.

_Hermione you look so lovely. Are you ready for graduation? I know it's a hard time to go through and all with the leaving of friends and-_

"Oh shit," turning over from her flat-back position on the floor so that she could adequately roll over into a squatting form, Hermione felt her head throb as she fought to gain standing ground.

"What time is it-OW!" Her friendly bottle of alcoholic regret spilled mercilessly all over the hard wood flooring. "Why couldn't I have closed that before I went to sleep."

A couple more steps and she found her cell phone filled with missed calls and voice messages, but the time now read 11:53 pm.

"So much for my birthday," she sighed. Gathering up the remains of her shattered night, she carefully placed the bottle into the trash and set about cleaning up the mess that now flowed under her couch. "Great, now I've got to move that bugger."

On hands and knees, the red river of pseudo blood dried up eventually with the constant use of paper towels and a mop. Though the floor was now liquid free, the under side of her couch had taken a beating. The stains would just have to wait for her headache still had not resided with the consumption of Excedrin, though she only took one and this was situation where two were warranted at least.

Looking down her rumpled form, she now noticed that that a deep red stain was embedded into the pink fabric essentially ruining the dress. Whimpering slightly, she kept on walking, unsteady at best, and let the dress issue fade away for tomorrow would bring its own list of problems and why not add that to it as well. Her eyes unfocused, but intentionally aware, aided in her attempt to locate her bed. Her legs gave way as soon as she came into contact with the comforter. It was here that she finished up her night, alone and hung over.

The next day brought Sunday into view, though a little less hung over than the night before, she still suffered the effects of the drumming headache. Her stomach had taken it pretty well, at least she hadn't needed to make a bathroom run in the early morning hours-regardless, food was the last thing on her mind and her stomach was not growling, which was an alert that any nourishment would not be appreciated at this time.

"No messages...I need some new friends," she stated hastily and put her cell back on the living room table.

The previous night's messages all followed the same theme of asking where was she and for her to call whoever back at as soon as possible because she was missing her birthday party and yadda yadda yadda. Needless to say, she refrained from calling anyone and didn't plan on it either. She figured that after seven pm, the calls had ceased due to Harry and Ginny's love of margaritas, Ron's wandering eye, and Draco and Pansy's habitual need to case the joints up and down the street for a more suitable party atmosphere-more than likely they had left not soon after arriving. She would never have found them anyway. The only reason her _friends _had chosen the Shadow Inn was out of pity for her-more like their pity for her single status. Their motto: Must set up single friends with potential husbands and wives so that they can live happily ever after and we can feel good about ourselves in the end.

_Why did you do that!_

_I'm so sorry Minerva...I_

_Get out! Get out now!_

_Please don't..._

"Time for another drink," she mumbled and reached for the nearest bottle in her refrigerator, but due to last night's splurge of clumsiness, she had to settle for Bailey's Irish Cream in coffee. Just her luck. She'd have to drink a million of those things before any kind of a high would take affect.

"I need coffee anyway. My headache might actually go away if I drink some caffeine," she reasoned with the silence that had in recent years become her constant companion. It never asked her hard questions nor implicated that any sort of judgment should be rendered.

_Hermione Granger!_

_Thank you sir I've enjoyed my time here immensely. And thank you Professor McGonagall for all you've helped me to accomplish._

_Yes. Move along._

She had never bothered with her again after that moment. It was as if it was all the woman could do to just stomach being around Hermione. She remembered how it felt when warm hands came in contact with the cool and detached grip of McGonagall's. She distinctly remembered searching those steel-ridden eyes for some sort of forgiveness, but it was too late. She had already gone and destroyed the one relationship that had meant so much to her, but she was good at sabotaging the means to her own happiness. It was her specialty as of late.

"Stupid," her breath blew into the coffee cup, stirring up a steamy fragrance of Bailey's and coffee. It was the closest she had to Heaven right now.

Deciding that she had had enough of crying over past poison, she managed a decent outfit accompanied by the signature curls that now flowed weightlessly around her face. Her makeup was on and she was ready to tackle the world by storm-well, maybe it was just the Bailey's talkin', but a trip to the local stores wouldn't hurt. "I could buy myself a birthday present," she reasoned sheepishly and out the door she went.

"Thank you Miss Granger, and here is your box. Would like the receipt in the bag?" the cashier asked politely.

"Oh no, I'll take it," taking the receipt firmly in hand, she thanked the girlish waif before her again and headed out towards the sunlight. A new pair of jeans was indeed a valuable investment, especially when one has not a pair one in her closet.

"Sarah!" A familiar voice broke through the wind causing Hermione's heart to stop dead. Raising her head with much fear, she caught sight of the owner-none other the magnificent Minerva McGonagall. She was motioning for a girl of about sixteen to follow her over towards the coffee shop and like the good little girl that she was, of course she complied and came running. Something twisted in her stomach, an emotion she not yet experienced, but whatever it was, she did not wish to revel in it any longer. Clutching her belongings closer to her side, she attempted to make her escape, but the very cause of her agony noticed her movements.

"Hermione? Hermione Granger?"

_Don't look at her and she will go away. Keep moving. Keep moving,_ her feet trudged on, but her heart fought for the right to answer the woman's calls and alas, it won without too much of a struggle.

"Minerva."

Unsure of how to respond to Hermione's underlying bitterness, the professor tried once again to elicit the correct reply from the obviously angry woman.

"Hermione. You look wonderful...and older. How have you been?" Still no response.

"Hermione are you okay? You look quite frazzled," Hermione could sense the woman struggling for words, how ironic. On a more serious tone, "I've been thinking about you lately and how...how I..."

Hermione snapped. Her eyebrows rose in accordance with Minerva's omission of truth, but old feelings emerged and her face contorted into one of immense hatred and a will to live freely from outside of her current prison.

"Excuse me Professor," Hermione shouldered her way past the confused woman and nailed the coffin shut with a "Move along."

She did not look back.

The End


End file.
